Four Kisses
by SevLovesLily
Summary: AU in which Sherlock and John are friends since young childhood: Documenting the four most important and most prominent kisses shared between them in their life. Life, not lives, because they share it. They always have.


**I had originally wanted to start writing a kid!lock fic, but then this happened. It's a completely different AU idea than what I had had in mind, so that kidlock might still happen. Hope you like present-tense.**

* * *

Those boys are practically twice Sherlock's size.

In width, that is. Not in height. And most certainly not in brain capacity.

Though Sherlock's genes predict that he will likely be taller than average when he gets older, he's not exactly the tallest of five year-olds. And still, of course, another child his age being twice his height is highly improbable.

But that's not the point. The point is that Sherlock is very small and very outnumbered, and the brick wall he's being forced to back up against is very cold. He's not a very likeable child in general, which is the reason he's being physically intimidated and threatened up against the wall. It's his tendency to go picking around for dead animals instead of play with toys, his ability to speak with the eloquence of an average adult and make everyone else, and his second-year maths skills that sets him apart from the others—and it's that which has the six year-old boys at the playground ready to beat him up.

Well, that, and the fact that Sherlock has just called the largest of their group an idiot. It's true, though, and it's hardly Sherlock's fault that the boy is an idiot. Either way, this isn't a fair fight. But of course, four six year-olds don't care about fairness, and they start punching him anyway.

"This'll teach ya, you little git—" one begins to say, before being forcibly cut off by a sharp blow to his shoulder that turns out, in the next second, to be a rock.

The surprise makes all four of them back off and look for the source of it, which is painfully obvious once another one hits a boy directly in the face and he falls down, crying.

"You leave him alone!" a short boy with tussled blonde hair demands as he runs up, looking rather genuinely angry for a child his age. Once he's up and right in their faces, he pulls his arm back like he's ready to punch their leader, but they run off in fear before he can do anything else.

"Thanks, John," Sherlock says in an almost sad-sounding voice, still standing against the wall. He sighs and looks down, rubbing at the arm he used to block his face while those boys were punching him. It felt like it was bruising already. "You've had to do this three times now. I'm sorry."

"What—?—Don't be sorry…. S'not your fault they're stupid bullies," John says comfortingly, frowning at the red marks on Sherlock. God, he wishes that people would stop being so mean to his friend. He doesn't deserve it.

Sherlock remains silent, still feeling like John shouldn't have to save him, and he blows a curl of hair out of his eyes. Of course, he's still grateful. He knows he's smarter than all of them, but he still admires John for being so brave and intimidating even though he's shorter than most of them.

In the next few seconds John is standing next to Sherlock and holding his arm, looking to see if he's alright. Though he obviously can't tell anything now, since he's only six, he likes to think himself a doctor because he wants to be able to take care of people—his best friend especially. But then he also thinks that he wants to be in the army like his grandfather, since he wants to fight and protect people. He hopes there's a way he can someday do both of those things.

"They're probably getting the teachers right now," Sherlock points out, trying not to smile too much at how John's looking him over.

"I don't care," he says nonchalantly, though slightly angry because it's unfair that he always gets in trouble just for protecting his friend and the teachers never believe him when he says that those boys hurt Sherlock worse. John shrugs and smiles at him, warm and in a way that coaxes a smile out of the young genius, too. "I don't mind getting in trouble. Every time I tell my mum and dad what really happened, they say they're proud."

Sherlock's grin gets a bit wider, and he feels so lucky to have the best possible friend in the whole world, John Watson. He also wishes that he could be strong enough to defend himself for once—but he know it won't happen. He's just too thin and too smart to have strength to make up for anything.

With a sudden idea, he feels momentarily nervous and looks around quickly before leaning forward and hugging John around the neck, then shutting his eyes tight and kissing him on the cheek in gratitude.

"Thanks again," he says quietly, now feeling rather embarrassed—though he's trying not to show it and he isn't turning nearly as red as John is.

"Er—you're… welcome."

For the rest of the day, even as he's getting lectured by the headmaster, John can't keep a huge grin off his face.

* * *

"Are we really skiving off class for this?" John asks for about the fifth time, somewhat out of breath because they've been jogging the whole way and he's already used up air asking that the other four times.

Sherlock looks back at him and raises an annoyed eyebrow, though he continues jogging and still seems perfectly capable of hopping over rocks when they cross his path. "You're the one who agreed to come—I told you that you didn't have to come! I even said it could be dangerous!"

"And you've yet to tell me how!" John retorts, but Sherlock just turns his head back around and smirks to himself because now he knows curiosity is one of the main reasons John's agreed to this.

When he finally stops, John's the only one who has to audibly catch his breath, and when he's finished, he looks directly at Sherlock and frowns. "So what exactly are we _doing_, then?"

Having been waiting for that question, Sherlock gives him an odd smile and says dramatically, "We're going on an adventure."

"…What sort of adventure?" he asks hesitantly, though he can't keep the slight tinge of hopefulness out of his voice. Really, he's always wanted to go on an adventure.

"Well—a very short one, actually. It's just a journey through the woods. I want to find some spiders, and you're going to help me."

John's face falls into a frown. "Spiders? What for?"

Rather than answering right away, Sherlock gets a head start into the forest and turns his head back to confirm John is following him several seconds later. His look is a very sharp "Come on!", and it makes an exasperated John decide that he has nothing to lose—he's already skiving off class—and follow along, catching up to Sherlock's side within a few seconds.

"This is for one of your experiment things, isn't it?"

"What else would it be for?" Sherlock smirks at him, reaching behind to unzip the backpack that he's brought and pull out a jar. He's silent for a minute as he looks around before John sighs and decides to ask.

"Mind telling me what the experiment _is_?" At this point, he can't really say that he's annoyed with Sherlock—he's used to it. His friend is too smart for his own good and has a habit of either assuming that everyone else can deduce things the way he can or just thinking that, since certain details aren't necessary to accomplish something, they don't need to know.

"Extracting venom," he says calmly, looking around for webs and being careful not to get stuck in any.

That sounds like a very Sherlock-ish thing to do, John thinks. And he's not scared, but he's slightly worried about what this might entail—since he was, well. Sherlock.

"You're not planning to use it on anyone, are you?" he asks, stepping ahead of Sherlock to make sure he can see his face.

They both know that he has every reason to—that, considering the way he's bullied, there are plenty of people who deserve to have spider venom put in their food or even directly into their bloodstream. But John is the sort of person who believes that no one really deserves to die, and he's an honest kid. If that's what Sherlock's planning, he's not going to let him do that.

And of course Sherlock believes that the other kids would get what they deserve, but he's not going to say that.

"No, 'course not," he says dismissively and almost expertly convincing. "I just want to see if I can do it. And maybe do experiments on it, see what happens when I put it on certain stuff."

"Well, of course you can," John huffs, a bit of a laugh in his voice. "You're brilliant—you already know you can do it."

Sherlock beams at the use of _brilliant_, and he feels that that's enough of a thanks before he continues walking in search of webs. For a while, they both just walk, and the boy in front keeps his jar open at the ready. At some point, John stops and points.

"Wait—there! I think there's a spider in that one, Sherlock."

He turns and looks hopefully, but immediately frowns. "Not the sort I'm looking for. That type of spider isn't nearly as deadly as the one I need."

That fact doesn't make John feel safer, but he's still not deterred from following. And he's more focused on wondering how Sherlock has already memorized all these different types of spiders, anyway.

Several minutes later, Sherlock excitedly points out a spider roughly the size of his eye and traps it in the jar as quickly as possible, as though it might realize what's going on and try to escape.

"There's going to be more around here, since these spiders tend to all live together…."

Despite the imminent danger of being bit if he's not careful enough, John is happy to help coax the spiders into the jars and make sure none escape. Sherlock has to brush a web off of his hair once, and he's proud of himself for possibly saving his friend's life.

Once they've got a sufficient amount in the jars, they're sitting down in the clearing while Sherlock counts them over and makes a few notes in the small notepad he's brought.

"You know," he starts to say, looking up at John, who pretends not to have been looking at him the past minute, "I read that venom can help make antidotes—the antivenom. So this sort of thing can help you when you're a doctor."

The mention of becoming a doctor makes John smile, but then he gets slightly embarrassed and looks away, shifting his legs. "Yeah, I'm not sure if I really will become a doctor—"

Sherlock looks up sharply. "What are you talking about? That's what you want to be, isn't it?"

"Yes, well… my mum doesn't approve," John sighs, trying not to frown too much. "She and my dad want me to get a football scholarship—"

"Already? But you're only ten!" Sherlock's livid at the fact that his friend's parents can't appreciate a good mind when they see it. Obviously John isn't nearly intelligent as he is, but he can tell that John's meant to be a doctor. _Definitely_ not a football star—sports are useless, anyway. "Don't listen to them. You're going to be a doctor someday," he assures, his voice holding smug surety like he really _knows_.

That cheers him up considerably, and as they pack up the jars into the backpack and start walking back again, John just smiles at him. They don't talk much on the way back, and once they're back in the vicinity of the school, the release bell for the next class rings. It occurs to John that he'd really rather not be absent for another lesson, but he also doesn't care as much as he normally would.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he turns to Sherlock and says, "Do you really think I'm smart enough to be a doctor?"

His stare is blank for a moment, but then his eyelids lower and his lips curl into a slight, genuine smile. "…If you think that I think you're stupid just because I'm smarter in comparison to everyone else here, then you're wrong, John. I do think you'd be a very competent doctor."

Nothing could make John happier than to know that Sherlock Holmes believed in him, and he profoundly does not care about his parents at all. In the heat and happiness of the moment, he leans in and practically smacks a kiss on Sherlock's mouth with how quick it is, and neither of them can really process what happened before John is already running away and heading off to his next class.

Turning his head around to a blushing and slightly confused Sherlock, he waves back, "See you after school!"

* * *

There's a thin line between looking uninterested and legitimately annoyed, and Sherlock knows exactly how far he needs to cross it in order to get John to both notice and care. So he scrunches up his nose and lets his upper lip curl slightly as he rests his face in one hand and briefly looks away.

"And so Jeanette decided—God, what's your problem?" John finally cuts himself off and huffs, shifting himself on the bed and frowning at Sherlock.

Good, now Sherlock doesn't technically have to be the rude one here.

"I don't want to bloody hear about all your girlfriends all the damn time!" he grumbles in somewhat exasperation, throwing up his arms a bit and looking straight at his friend. "You've had—what, six of them now?"

Not liking Sherlock's tone, John adopts an attitude of his own. "Don't talk about them like they're _things_, Sherlock! And I don't even talk about them very often—have you even been _listening_ to what I was telling you this whole damn time? Me and Jeanette broke up! I always tell you when I get a girlfriend, and then when we break up. That's it. But I guess your mind just deletes all the time in between to suit your own purposes—"

"You didn't even answer my question," he argues smoothly, narrowing his eyes. "How many has it been so far? Do you even _remember_ how many girlfriends you have?"

"What—why does that matter?" John furrows his brow, his frustration increasing. Sherlock takes that as a no. "The real question is, _why do you care?_ Why can't you be like a normal friend and just listen to my stories whether you're interested in them or not—hell, why can't you be interested in _what I have to say_? Why do you have to be such a dick about these things?"

John starts to slide off the bed, clearly heading toward his shoes to put them back on so he can leave, and Sherlock panics. So he slides off as well and stands with his back facing the door as though to keep him from leaving.

"I thought you'd have guessed by now!" he tells him, anger evident in his voice. But he's not sure precisely why he's angry. "I—"

"Oh, so it's this again? Well, you can't just bloody _expect_ me to guess everything—who can possibly guess what goes on with the _Great Sherlock Holmes_?" As much more frustrated as this has made him, John forgets about leaving and is more focused on whatever it is that Sherlock thinks he should have guessed.

"It's not exactly _difficult_," he sneers, arrogance seeping out of his mouth now. Sherlock's hand turn to claws as he gestures. "If you were more observant, we wouldn't be having this problem!"

"Well—it may come as a surprise to you, but not everyone has your deduction skills, Sherlock! It would have been so easy to tell me what was up with you, and yet you insist on being a bloody drama—"

Yes, dramatic is exactly what Sherlock is—and it's for that reason that he can't possibly bring himself to tell John directly, but instead he darts forward and tell him in a much more physical way. His friend is clearly surprised by the sudden lips mashing against his and the arms around his back, and Sherlock is just about to pull back in sudden fear of rejection when—

John's initial shock melts away once it occurs to him so intensely that _this_ is what he wants, and that, really, it's what he expected in the first place. Maybe not openly to himself, but definitely in the back of his mind. Sherlock's lips are on his and he _understands_, he _knows_—he _feels_ it. He may not be the master of deduction that his best friend is, but it doesn't take a genius.

In fact, geniuses would be less likely to figure it out so quickly.

Sherlock shudders when John brings his hand up to his neck during the kiss, and when he finally pulls back, he's looking considerably innocent and much less dominant than usual.

"John…," he whispers, both with breathless passion and with relief. It's such an amazing feeling to know that the love he's been harboring all these years hasn't gone unrequited.

And it's then that John realizes what he's been doing all this time by getting with girlfriend after girlfriend, never finding a single one who he liked as much as Sherlock and never realizing that he didn't even want to. He's obviously always known that these girls weren't right for him and that it was seemingly impossible for him to find a girl he had the slightest bit of real feelings for, but he's still been stupid enough not to see it.

It all makes him feel horrible, and the look on his face when he reaches up to caress Sherlock's is hopeless and apologetic.

"…Why did you ever have to fool yourself with all those girlfriends?" Sherlock finally asks, his voice quiet and uncharacteristically small. It's a rhetorical question, but John answers anyway.

"I… I don't know," he admits, shaking his head slowly and then pressing it into Sherlock's chest. "Why… did you never tell me?" A confession would have been nice before John started going off with girlfriends about a year ago.

"Because you never told me," Sherlock answers simply. "And… I thought you already knew."

John really can't deny that he did—because really, he's always known. They both have. It's always been there, since they were just little kids, and they've just never said anything. And leave it to Sherlock to leave this kind of thing unsaid just because he thought it was already obvious…. Most people would have seen that as a reason to be outward with it.

"Why did _you_ never say anything?" Sherlock asks, breaking the silence and pulling back to view John's face. He understands that it must have been an entirely different motive for John.

"Because… I was scared," he admits resentfully, looking down and back up again. "Especially since—you're, well, a boy…. I mean, it was one thing when I was little, but then my parents told me that I was supposed to be attracted to girls and I _am_—but I don't actually _like_ them and you're the only boy I've ever liked—you're the only _person_ I've ever liked, so what the hell does this make me?"

Hysterical, John breaks free from Sherlock's grasp and paces in a small circle. His friend just gives him the usual intense look, not breaking his gaze.

"It doesn't have to make you anything, John. I'm more than just the sex my genitals define me as—I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I've known you since childhood."

"Oh, so you're so great that you transcend gender now?" he says sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"Well… a bit, yes."

John can't help but let out a breathy laugh of "_Sher-lock,_" and suddenly really _not_ caring what was in between Sherlock's legs, he steps forward and takes his friend's face in both hands to kiss him. He wants to feel Sherlock's lips under his again, and he wants to direct it this time because his friend really doesn't know how to kiss properly just yet.

After several minutes and a trip to the bed, Sherlock thinks that he's getting the hang of this rather quickly.

* * *

It's not until Sherlock and John have reached their thirties that civil partnerships are legal in Britain, but they've been waiting eagerly for the day ever since the pure notion of it was mentioned. John's sister Harry has had their ceremony planned for nearly a year now, and thanks to Mycroft, they've known civil partnerships were going to be legal today since several days ago and were easily able to get things set up for now.

They're going to be one of the first same-sex couples to be in a legal union, and the sheer competition of it is making Sherlock even more happy about this.

Unlike how most people might be, Sherlock isn't nervous at all. He knows exactly what he wants, and that's to spend the rest of his life with John. In fact, he's known this since he was a teenager. They've grown up together and if John left his life someday, he quite honestly has no idea what he would do. It would almost literally be like losing a limb without which he couldn't function.

He's confident as usual, but John's not quite the same. As irrational as it is, he can't help but get that incessant pounding in his chest. John simply has more heart and less mind than Sherlock, he always has—he can't just not feel things because they're unreasonable. It's one of those things he envies about Sherlock sometimes.

Once again thanks to Mycroft, they've managed to get a rather large ceremony with room for all their family members (despite Sherlock's initial protests), friends, and coworkers—basically everything a normal wedding would have. There's some people John knows from St. Bart's—Molly, Mike, Sarah, and then some from the Yard where Sherlock does his consulting detective work—the only one Sherlock consented to is Lestrade, but even Anderson and Donovan are there.

As said, John simply has more heart and less mind than Sherlock, and he cares about having a lot of people here to witness something this important. And as someone who's been with him for nearly all of his life, Sherlock can respect it even if he doesn't agree and would much rather have a private ceremony.

When the time comes, they walk down the aisle together, as equals, and stand in front of an altar, behind which is a smiling Justice of the Peace. They both have their own vows to say.

This is where John gets really nervous, like he's a teenage boy and he's spilling out his feelings and being awkward about it all over again. Licking his lips, he takes a deep breath and Sherlock's hands in his.

"I know you probably think this is all useless and that we don't need this ceremony to prove anything," he starts, trying his best to keep his voice steady, "but I've been spending the entire first half of my life waiting to spend the second half of it with you. I've been waiting for a long time to stand up in front of the world and show everyone that I'm going to do that—that you're mine and I'm yours and that we have something they couldn't ever hope to have."

A few people shift in their seat or make a cough of disagreement at that, but John couldn't care less because one of those people is his aunt who, according to Sherlock, is being cheated on by her husband. He carries on and Sherlock is starting to smile wider and wider.

"But I don't want our union to really change anything. I know what people have said, and I'm going to continue to not give a fuck. Sherlock…." John reaches up and softly grabs hold of either side of the man's face, looking at him tenderly and getting a gaze filled with awe in return. "I always want you to be my Sherlock, and I want you to keep being an arrogant, genius arsehole, and I don't want you to ever let anyone tell you that you're not good enough for me"—Sherlock briefly glances to Anderson, who immediately frowns—"because you _are_. And I know you're going to do all of this anyway because you're Sherlock and you already do whatever the hell you want—I just want you to know that I know exactly what living with you for the rest of my life entails and that it's what I want. And it's what I love about you. I love… _everything_ about you, Sherlock. Right down to the body parts you keep in the fridge."

John's smile is practically breaking his face when he finishes and can see that breathless look on Sherlock's face once he's finished with his vows. The man across from him reaches forward and takes his face in his hands as well, and for a few seconds he doesn't say anything—not because he can't speak, but because he just wants to look at John in silence for a moment.

"You're right, John—I really do think the formality is unnecessary if not for the lifelong benefits. But I still care because I want us to be recognized—I want everyone to _know_ that we're not just taken, but we're practically bonded by blood to someone else. I've wanted this since I was just a child—you were extraordinary, more extraordinary and kind and tolerant and full of heart than anyone I've ever met. And I want to finally shut up anyone who says that I'm too good for you"—this time, he glances at Mycroft—"because I decide what's good for me thank-you-very-much, and you, John Watson, are all I need. You're my heart and my rock, John."

It's much shorter than John's, but it doesn't matter. Sherlock's better at summing things up and saying what matters. And besides, not much else can really matter to them when the justice is finished reading the formalities less than a minute later and announces that they're now to deal this deal with a kiss.

Finally, Sherlock actually feels several pounds in his chest of nervous excitement as he smiles breathlessly down at John and tries to figure out how to kiss him and make it perfect. However, John's cheerfully impatient and grabs him by the collar, pulling him down and fitting their lips together for a long, passionate kiss that involves a lot of audible nose-breathing.

Physically, it isn't much different than all the other kisses they've shared. But somehow, be it the circumstances or the fact that (most) everyone is clapping and cheering for them, it feels like the most spectacular kiss either of them will ever have in their entire life.

* * *

**If Sherlock seems at all OOC, that's because John's influence is a huge part of his personality and he's been with him practically his whole life, this time. If Sherlock had never not had John, he would likely have never gone to drugs, and he also would have been able to function better with the normal people because he would understand how to behave. But obviously he still wouldn't be able to stop being a rude and arrogant dick a lot of the time because he's just naturally narcissistic.**

**As usual, it'd be great to get some feedback, so please leave a review and tell me what you thought!**


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